


The story of how Pavel Chekov asked for Babyphotos

by melonbutterfly



Category: Star Trek: 2009
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-26
Updated: 2009-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly





	The story of how Pavel Chekov asked for Babyphotos

"Okay Chekov, your turn," Kirk said after he got the okay-nod from Uhura and waved towards her station. Pavel flinched and whirled around, eyes wide and confused. "M-my turn, keptin? For what?"

Kirk rolled his eyes and threw himself into his chair with well-practised ease—honestly, sometimes it seemed he only got up so he could throw himself into the chair again. "To call your family, of course. To ask for baby photos for that yearbook, remember?"

Pavel opened his mouth and closed it again, blushing deep red. Of course he hadn't forgotten; that yearbook and the baby photos had been topic on the ship for weeks, especially since the captain had officially allowed those crewmembers who didn't get them on time to call home—a real live call, not a video-message such as those that were normal and private, sent back to the respective homes of every crewmember without anyone noticing much. He just… hadn't expected to have to make his live call now, on the bridge, in front of everyone. Once more he cursed himself for slipping up and telling his family that if they didn't send the picture on time, he'd have to call them; he should have known they would accidentally on purpose 'forget' to send it.

But it was way too late to berate himself for stupidity and naïveté, and so he reluctantly got up and shuffled over to Uhura, who had her screen and earphone ready for him. She stood up to let him sit at her station—it was the only one on the ship that allowed live conversations over several lightyears, and thus it was only logical that he'd make his call from there. But pleasant, it was not and Pavel felt the hairs in the back of his neck stand up as he sat on her warm chair while she typed the address he gave him while standing. She took a step back to give him some privacy while the call was transmitted, but not far enough to be out of hearing- or viewing range; he knew that was in case any other calls came, especially non-private ones, but it wasn't a pleasant prospect, knowing she was going to at least see everything that was going on on the screen.

And then he didn't have any more time to dread, because the call was admitted and the next moment, he saw his older sister Nastasja's overly big face appear on the screen, and a certain amount of cleavage; immediately he knew she was bent over their mother's desk, reaching to switch on the screen. The moment she saw his face, she squeaked shrilly, clapped her hands and took a step back to properly look at him, even though he knew she'd only be able to see his face, shoulders and upper body. Uneasily, he smiled.

"Pasha!", she exclaimed, and he had to admit it was rather nice hearing her voice, the Russian accent; he got communiqués from her regularly—really from everyone in the family, and a certain amount of people who weren't; usually they grouped together, which was a good thing because he was sure if they didn't, Starfleet would sooner or later invent a maximum number of private communiqués a crew member was allowed to get, and that would be embarrassing as hell—but still, video messages were no real conversations. " _How are you?_ ", she continued in Russian, and he relaxed a little. Maybe this was going to be a fairly normal call after all, with only direct family.

" _Fine. How are you?_ ", he replied in Russian—he always spoke Russian with his family—and really, really hoped nobody was staring at him. He hated being stared at.

" _Great!_ ", she beamed at him. " _I was just looking for the family book, you are so lucky you're calling now, three days ago Misha's son was born!_ "

And Pavel knew he was doomed.

Nastasja beamed at him, said " _wait a minute_ " and then she walked out of screenrange before he could protest. For a second he pondered closing the connection and claiming it had been lost, but Uhura would most likely see it and hate him for touching her station, apart from the fact that he had no idea how to do that in the first place. In the distance, he could hear Nastasja hollering for everyone and everything, banging doors and walking up stairs, and if their homestation would have been on a higher technical level, he was sure he would have heard everyone gathering and answering and the other normal noises of his home when it was full—and to be honest, there wasn't a time when it wasn't. The thought filled him with a curious mixture of homesickness and dread, and the moment someone walked into the screen again he settled for dread.

"Pasha!", Nikolay, his twenty-three-years-old cousin once removed or something called out upon seeing his face, and beamed. There was a certain warmth about Russian manners that he missed in other cultures, but what he certainly didn't miss was the fact that every single person in his family insisted on loving him, and not in that calm, laid-back way that was alright but in that loud, isn't-he-adorable-like-a-kitten way.

…okay, so he didn't mind being loved at all (and he loved right back), but he did mind the way most people tended to treat him just because he looked girlier than some of his female relatives. Honestly, even the ones younger than him found him adorable, and that was something that he could do without, thank you very much.

Nikolay didn't even wait for an answer, he just beamed and reached for the console, and Pavel got a very, very bad feeling. Faintly, he heard other people; they were piling into the room and settling on the giant couch, he was sure. His mother's working room was very spacious for the simple fact that many Chekovs—and those with different names, related or not related to them, that still belonged to the family equally—worked farther away, though Pavel was the first one who had taken the path into active Starfleet duty. And somehow, for some unfathomable reason, everyone thought it was important that sometimes, every single member of their vast family was on the video, no matter if they said something or not. And in the past, Pavel had actually liked those videos; until he had left home, that is, and had been on the receiving end of the first one. The snarky remark of his room-mate on how the entire village he came from had apparently gathered for the video hadn't even been the worst; the worst was how they insisted on discussing everything, every little thing he mentioned or didn't mention in addition to everything they could think of (did he eat enough? Was he sure he didn't miss the cats and dogs and rabbits and whatnot too much?) on the video. Admittedly, it was nice that they thought tiny things like that were important, and that they always included him on the conversation as if he was there, but still.

And now he'd have to have an actual live discussion with his family, live on the bridge, in hearing range of everyone he admired, and a couple of people he didn't, and his superior officers, and his friends.

Pavel really, really wished he had never mentioned anything about live calls in his last message.

And then Nikolay apparently found the switch and switched him from the little screen onto the big, nearly wall-wide screen that was built into the wall like a TV—not very unlike the bridge screens, actually—and he could see the sofa that was covered in people. At least they weren't sitting quietly waiting for him but having the usual various discussions among themselves, and for half a second, Pavel almost believed they maybe wouldn't make such a fuss over this.

Well. He _was_ kind of naïve, he was aware of that.

The second his face was on full screen and people started to notice him—one and the same, really—they started to exclaim his name and wave at him and ask him how he was and talk about this and about that, and Pavel had a hard time keeping up with the greetings, much less anything else. His family was just too damn _big_ , and the screen on Uhura's station certainly was anything but.

At least it kept him busy and he forgot to think about how he was chattering on in Russian live on the bridge, and how Uhura was watching and probably a couple of people more.

Until he felt a hand on his shoulder, that was.

He didn't mean to jump, he really didn't, but it was an instinctive reaction; he had been totally unaware that there were actually other people present over the lively conversation that was going on, and his efforts to try to keep up and recognise everyone on the tiny screen.

"Really, Chekov, you should have said that it was a bad time. You can call them again later," his captain said, and there was a certain amusement in his voice that made Pavel blush deep red. But it also confused him; puzzled, he turned and said "Vhy bad time, keptin?"

Kirk frowned. "Aren't your parents having a party or something?" He leaned closer towards the screen, and Pavel had to wince at some of the things his dearest relatives had to say about him, especially the male-oriented ones.

"Uh, no, keptin. That's just my family," he explained, embarrassed, and ignored the outraged, amused protests of said family at his choice of words; 'just' apparently wasn't to their liking.

Kirk paused. Then he turned to look at Chekov, expression incredulous, and asked, "you're related to all of them?"

Pavel just knew his face couldn't get any redder anymore, and nodded.

"Hm," Kirk made and abruptly stood straight again. "Well, if that is the case, we just have to put them on the big screen, don't we? Can't have you needing a looking glass to be able to discern their faces." And before Pavel could protest or really just say anything at all, he had turned to Uhura and gave her the according orders and, mouth twitching, Uhura bent over her console—this time, Pavel had to wince at the catcalls and comments of mainly the female-oriented members of his family—and typed the according orders. The next moment, the screen was blank, and Pavel blinked; before he could react, however (and how come everyone always kept overthrowing him with their actions?), Uhura typed something else, and suddenly the voices of his family weren't in his ear anymore but audible on the whole bridge. Uhura had turned on the loudspeakers.

Pavel whirled in her chair—and wasn't he lucky that he didn't knock her over or something in the process—and tried to keep his mouth from dropping open. Kirk, who appeared way too amused by the situation, grinned and waved at the Chekovs, who, after a moment of initial confusion, grinned and waved back or called out a greeting. Everyone on the bridge was turning in their seats to look at Pavel's family, and all Pavel wanted to do was sink into the ground and never come back. His family was _loud_ , and _embarrassing_ , and this was his personal hell. Only adding to his embarrassment was the obvious excitement some of his relatives displayed when realising they were speaking to _the_ Jim Kirk. Knowing Pavel was working under him was one thing, but to see him was another, obviously.

" _Come on, Pasha, introduce us!_ ", Vita, his nineteen-years-old cousin demanded with an appreciative leer towards Kirk. Pavel was more than thankful she was speaking Russian.

Until he remembered the universal translator, that is. It was a wonderful invention that miraculously translated everything from any known language automatically into standard. Including Russian.

This time, Pavel finally gave in to the urge to hide and buried his face in his hands. Sadly, he couldn't cover his ears simultaneously and had to hear the conversation that followed—

"Stop it, Vita, you're embarrassing the poor boy," from his mother, the added remark " _Yeah, besides, isn't he a little too young for you?_ " from one of his cousins, Vadik, which would have been fine, hadn't it been relaying to the fact that Vita usually chose men that were at least ten years older than her, and hadn't he added " _But I'll gladly take over for you_." Kirk, obviously charmed, flirted right back, and that was at least one positive thing (well, depending on how one looked at it, that is); any other captain would have probably castrated him, or something. After a while, the conversation actually ventured into almost-safe waters; his youngest brother, Gena, five years old, obviously had a hero-crush on Kirk and the short conversation they had was almost cute. Until his great-great-aunt brought up Pavel, that is.

At first it seemed innocently enough; she merely asked how he was doing, but—and he didn't know how that happened, and _what the hell?_ in the first place—not five minutes later, she was retelling childhood stories. She always did that with anyone, even those who were older than her, but _still_. This was his _captain_. How was Kirk supposed to ever take him serious again after hearing the story on how Pavel had, after hearing "aren't you an adorable boy with those big, sweet brown eyes?" one time to many, tried to turn sour milk good again by merely looking at it? The whole bridge had a laugh at that, and Sulu still had it, actually, for he seemed unable to stop. Sulu, who he used to have very fascinating conversations with about very fascinating things, and who he believed actually respected him for his knowledge without thinking something like "and he's only seventeen" along the lines.

It was horrible, and it got even worse when one of his uncles showed up—with Pavel's baby pictures. And instead of picking his favourite ones, he insisted on showing them all to Kirk, and Uhura quickly inserted herself into the conversation, and after a couple of minutes half the bridge was making votes on which photo was more adorable. The comments they made were really embarrassing; at least he knew he had been cute, but he certainly didn't need to be called 'adorable little angel' by one of Spock's science officers, and he needed the 'awwww's even less that erupted whenever an especially cute picture showed up. And they were all cute, at least judging by the crew's reactions.

It was one of his cousins that saved him, if only accidentally. Anya, eight years old, peered at the door (that was on the same wall as the screen, because Pavel's mother was of the opinion that it was impolite to have video conferences with a door in the background) and squeaked loudly before clapping both hands over her mouth, silencing herself.

" _Oooh, baby!_ " someone exclaimed in moderate volume; everyone turned rather quiet, except for Pavel's mother who beamed at the screen and said "Pasha, look at your newest nephew!" That was when his older brother Misha came into view (or rather, the back of his head first), and with a grin he turned around, a rosy, fresh baby in his arms. He grinned and winked at Pasha and said, " _Haven't decided on a name yet. Mind choosing?_ "

Before Pavel could say anything, Vita butted in, leaning forwards and stage-whispering " _Choose something nice and short, they're honestly thinking about Vyacheslav!_ "

Pavel tilted his head, looked at his youngest nephew for a moment and said "Aleksi."


End file.
